he Cathedral-seeker turns to the nearest entrance.

[Illustration: "A LARGE, SQUARE TOWER SERVED AS A
LOOKOUT."--FORCALQUIER.]

[Illustration: "A SUGGESTIVE VIEW FROM THE SIDE AISLE."--FORCALQUIER.]

The first glimpse of the interior is so relieving that one is not quick
to notice its lack of architectural unity. The few windows give a soft
light, and the brown of the stone has a mellowness that is both rich and
reposeful. If the Cathedral could have been finished in the style of the
first bays of the nave, it would have been a nobly dignified example of
the Romanesque. Could it have been re-built in the slender Gothic of the
last bay, it would have been an exquisite example of Provencal Gothic.
Rather largely planned, its old form of tunnel vaulting and the fine
curve of its nave arches and heavy piers are in violent contrast to the
Gothic bay, with its pointed arch, its clustered columns and carved
capitals, which, even with the shallow choir and its long, slim windows,
is too slight a portion of the Cathedral to have independence or real
beauty. From its ritualistic position, it is the culminating point of
the church, and its discord with the Romanesque is unpleasantly
insistent. The side aisles, which were built in the XVII century, are
low, agreeable walks ending in the chapels of the smaller apses. They
are neither very regular nor very significant; but they give the church
pleasant size and perspectives, and by avoiding the unduly large and
shining modern chandeliers which hang between the nave arches, one gets
from these side aisles the suggestive views which show only too well
what true and good architectural ideas were brought to confusion in the
re-building, the additions, and the restorations of the centuries. In
painting, anachronisms may be quaint or even amusing; but in
architecture, they are either grotesque or tragic, and in a church of
such fine suggestiveness as Notre-Dame at Forcalquier, one is haunted by
lingering regrets for what might and should have been.

[Sidenote: Vence.]

A founder of the French Academy and one of its first immortal forty was
Antoine Godeau, "the idol of the Hotel Rambouillet." His mind was
formed, as it were, by one of the most clever women of that brilliantly
foolish coterie, he sang frivolous sonnets to a beautiful red-haired
mistress whom he sincerely admired, and when he entered Holy Church,
none of his charming friends believed that he would do more than modify
t